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"Like a… bloody tick," He muttered coldly to himself, only half-realizing he was speaking aloud, "Digging his nasty little claws into my synapses and holding on for dear life..."
Settled deep into the cushion of the well-loved red chair, Basil rubbed his temples.
At this point in his life, the esteemed Basil of Baker Street had seen and experienced more than the average civilian could usually attest to. He had boldly encountered things that would make even the most brave-hearted mice shudder with fright. He had studied under masters, solved daring mysteries, made incredible scientific breakthroughs. He bounced back from his infrequent failures, taking them as learning opportunities. He had his fair share of highs to encourage him and enough lows to keep him humble. Basil was good at what he did - the best, in fact. He wasn't easily nonplussed.
However, he could not believe this.
His friend - no. Basil's dark brow furrowed. He wasn't his friend any longer. He hadn't been his friend for a while, in fact. Call it what you will, but this was so much deeper now. So much more venomous. So much more... threatening.
His heart clenched in hate.
This... villain... had slipped through his fingers like fine grains of sand in a treasonous hourglass. Slamming the door to the flat in a frenzy of cape, he had vowed that Basil would get the nemesis he so craved. Baker Street had been quiet ever since, while the rest of London suffered at the hands of a quickly-rising villain extraordinaire that absolutely no one could have anticipated.
He couldn't stand to dwell on the mutiny of it all and yet his traitorous mind couldn't think of much else. Basil found sick irony in this. He usually took immense pride and solace in his own brilliant mind, constantly working at top speed like a lovingly-oiled machine. The cogs of his genius twisted loyally in a beautiful and mysterious symphony of intellect, but he cursed it now. At this moment, his mind was a primordial soup of hate and deceit. He couldn't stop seeing that sadistic bastard's sickening grin behind his green eyes.
Yes, he mused, traitorous was the right word. No matter how desperately he tried, he could not stop thinking about it all. About how… he might have potentially sparked this. About how he might have created this. About how he might have created HIM. But that's silly, isn't it?
…Isn't it?
That was one thing his mind halted at the thought of. To think that he, Basil of Baker Street, who wanted and continued to want nothing but to make the world a better place, could have twisted such a genius for evil.
That he could create such a villain.
By neglecting his business partner and dearest friend, by losing himself in the joys of detective work - Could he really have driven him away so far that he had turned to evil? Without even realizing it? Basil would be the first to admit he wasn't the most skilled at reading illogical things like emotion, whether it be in himself or others - but how this could have escalated this far was beyond Basil's comprehension. Sure, he had escaped into his studies for a bit, got a tad carried away. But he was just focused. When had things gotten this out of hand?
Could he have seen the signs if he had looked harder? But then again, it's not everyday you experience the transformation of a criminal mastermind.
No, he dare not think of it. And yet... the atrocities being committed demanded a second thought.
Oh, the things that had been done right under Basil's nose. He felt physically sick at the thought. His stomach lurched at the thought of the lies, the insurrection, the blatant breaking of his trust right before his very eyes, all while keeping a perfect façade of partnership. Of alliance. Of... companionship.
But that's what he does, isn't it? Basil thought to himself, overcome. He acts, performs, puts on a show for even those who are closest to him. Basil momentarily wondered if P-... if he had ever actually considered them to be close, really - He himself had thought so, even if admitting it now was like taking a dagger to the heart - but obviously a new light had been shed on the topic of the Professor's true regards.
Basil couldn't help but wonder. Had he even valued Basil's company? Did he return his sentiments? Or was it all a production, all along? A ruse to get London’s greatest investigative mind distracted enough by day to mount an untouchable criminal empire by night?
Had he swindled Basil out of everything, including raw emotion?
His eyes ravaged across the flat, but he saw nothing. Basil's grip turned white. When did the room turn red?
His mind raced at the thought of how he betrayed him. Of how he had let him. Of how he'd let him do it again.
Oh god, he thought, the lawlessness of it all. The crimes being committed, Basil. The devastation you never knew about. The wreckage you'll never even be aware of.
Basil tried relentlessly to keep from admitting to himself that he missed him. His heart clenched violently when he remembered he was missing someone that was apparently long gone.
But then… Could he still change him back? Sure, the idea was laughable - The Professor was making the front page consistently regarding highbrow crimes Basil never could have dreamt of. But the thought was ever-present in the background of his brain, tapping on his consciousness, demanding a second thought. There was no way someone could go from being so kind, so gentle, so considerate, to such a fiendish, morally-corrupt savage-
…This was ridiculous. Oh - and yet, it was the most devastatingly serious thing he could possibly think of. His thoughts were simply restless. Day in and day out, never ceasing, dueling back and forth; his heart and his mind took open shots at each other that never broke skin. Basil was losing sight of himself through it all, spending days sitting around and trying to work through it like a complex equation. He found himself amidst a comedic tragedy, a hideous and beautiful composition of betrayal - the absolute mutiny, the chaos; the never-ending, lamentable, heart-racing, despicable thoughts about-
Basil's heart quickened despite his best efforts as he slouched into the red, oversized lounge chair across from his own.
His traitorous mind finished his sentence.
- Thoughts about him.
Good lord, Basil hated this. His mind tried to search for a word stronger than hate, but was steam-rolled by the next odious thought.
Oh, how Basil hated him. In fact, he considered, maybe he had always hated him. That despicable, lowlife, deviant ruffian of the most ill repute. It would make sense, wouldn't it? One would think an unmatched mind like Basil's would be able to pinpoint his seedy criminal deceit from a mile away. Maybe he had always hated him... and was too much of a gentleman to let it surface, even to himself!
At that moment, Basil regrettably glanced at his lonely violin. The silky voice in the back of his head supplied that music was better played together.
Oh no.
He put his head in his hands. Good lord. Basil regretted every moment he had spent with that lunatic. He regretted every case, every scheme, every mission…
Every conversation, every mutually-shared moment of disgustingly equal brilliance. Every late-night discussion about everything and nothing, every silly, triumphant laugh at a job well-done, every comfortably silent interlude, every exchanged thought, every quiet moment of understanding. Every glance. Every touch. Oh, bloody hell. He hated it all.
And at this moment, he hated his own mind for telling him he was lying.